


Been So Long

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Crushes, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Go-go dancer, Grinding, Hand Jobs, POV Jughead Jones, Showers, Some Humor, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vaginal Fingering, bughead - Freeform, gogo dancer Betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Jughead Jones is contemplating how the hell to get out of Moose Mason's stag night and away from sweaty, pulsing bodies when a flash of blonde on one of the stages catches his eye. It's his brilliant, all-consuming crush from high school, Betty Cooper, apparently dancing her way through college. Before he can properly scoop his jaw off the floor, Reggie Mantle swoops in and buys him a dance. Up close, her outfit seems even tinier, but pressed against her Jughead can't even think properly other than to numbly marvel that Betty Cooper is even more hypnotic than she was in high school. It's been so long, but maybe now he'll finally have the chance to ask her for more than a dance.





	Been So Long

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song [Ghosts N Stuff](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7ArUgxtlJs), but another good song for getting in the club mood of this would be [Gettin' Over You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jn2OAS1K3ZY). This fic is about being enticed by the beat you can't ignore, and sometimes that beat is a blonde named Betty Cooper. Also to clarify, go-go dancers are usually scantily clad but don't necessarily do anything but dance so there's no private room or panties removal or anything like that, but for the sake of tagging I put in that she's a stripper because...well...you'll get it. Hope you enjoy ^-^

Loud music is one thing, but when the bass is accompanied by a throng of unknown human beings drinking fluorescent beverages it becomes another beast entirely. Extracting himself from the throng of sweaty, pulsing dancers, Jughead leans back up against the bar and tries to pretend he’s not counting down the seconds until he can go back to the house or escape to an arcade or _something_ not involving bodies thrusting on all sides of him. With the fervor of Archie’s dancing, it shouldn’t be more than an hour. His enthusiastic dance moves are almost hilarious enough to bring back memories of his momentary stardom in the high school musical. Archie _loves_ music, so it was just natural he’d try and delve into it by any means necessary. He’s optimistically signed up for a business and music double major, but only one he does any homework for.

Leave it to Jughead to think of homework in the middle of a stag party. One of their housemates is getting married and the whole motley crew is being forced out to have one last hurrah before the big day (which is in _a_ _month_ , he’d like to point out). Jughead would rather be back in the house writing manifestos and final term papers in the glory of peace and quiet while the rest of them are out, but Archie had pulled the _non-negotiable_ clause of childhood brotherhood. Whatever that means. Jughead only invokes it for much less involved commitments, like occasionally making Archie come to double features with him on a Saturday night instead of whatever stupid frat party is going on that weekend.

Sighing, he scans the crowd for other members of their party. The beat drops low, the lights shift, and a girl dancing on top of a small stage catches his eye. It’s not because she’s sexy (she is, for a girl. Human. Whatever.), it’s the _shape_ of her. Familiar. Haunting. The breath gets knocked out of his chest as she whips her hair, wriggling her shoulders, suddenly reminding him of a certain cheerleading routine. The brilliant giga-watt smile. The meadow green eyes that everyone always thought were blue, especially reflected in that teasingly short Vixens cheerleading uniform. The _ponytail_. Iconic. But she’s wearing something skimpier than her Riverdale days, which seems almost impossible considering she was normally in a cheerleading uniform that made his throat feel three sizes too small. Her outfit is strappy and black and he thinks would be marketed as a dress if not for the obscene amount of midriff that makes it entirely possible it’s just a swimsuit under some sheer netting. That ponytail’s been let loose into something curly, long, and loose, shifting down her shoulders in soft waves he's sure could drown him in silky blonde heaven.

_Fuckin’ A._

**_Betty Cooper._**

It’s _the_ sight for sore eyes. Even if he does feel like he needs a cold shower or some bleach after witnessing Riverdale’s famed girl-next-door rock her hips in a way that rivals certain adult movies.

“Holy shit,” he swears, the words swallowed by the noise of the club.

There’s something on her _skin_. He see it from here.

It might be glitter. It might be sweat. It might be a hallucination for all he knows. He just has the overwhelming urge to lick it. _Fuck_.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” The voice startles him, and he scrambles to inconspicuously face the boldest and possibly douchiest of their housemates from high school. At least Jughead’s bulked up from slugging around stage weights, so the older housemate doesn’t intimidate him as much anymore. Reggie sips some kind of mango-colored drink from a whiskey glass, pointer finger raised in the casual confidence that he’s a leader of some kind.

Maybe if Jughead deflects, he won’t have to respond to him. What possible use is a conversation with Reggie anyway, especially in the middle of the club? There a million dancers in here, some of them half-naked, which should serve as a decent distraction. He probably doesn’t even remember—

“Ooh, hot blonde. Nice choice, Jones. Didn’t think you had eyes for anyone but Archie,” the jock elbows him, somehow without malice. This is just his version of _bro_ time. At least Reggie doesn’t recognize her. Jughead readjusts his uncomfortably tight pants and looks for an exit strategy. Reggie smirks a little too knowingly, blocking his way out of the throng of people. “Why don’t you stop being a little bitch and ask her to dance?”

“Because I’m not a fucking creep, like every other guy who goes up there,” he offers pointedly.

Plus…this isn’t his scene. Reggie’s got the gelled hair, the strong cheekbones, the fancy clothes, the _money_. And possibly a more delusional version of confidence that any girl would _love_ to dance with him. Jughead does not have any of those things. And he doesn’t even _want_ to dance. Especially if it involves defiling his childhood crush—er, sweetheart…girl…friend. Rolling his eyes, Jughead tries to edge away to some dark corner to creep in peace.

“If you don’t do it, I will,” Reggie threatens, taking another sip, finger raising like a start flag.

Something akin to heartburn flares in his chest at the thought of Reggie’s body pressed against Betty’s. The fucking asshole found his berserk button and he knows it. Feeling cornered and pissy, Jughead scowls at the smug entitled bratface that somehow got the title of Best Man. “You’re a dick.”

“She’s a go-go dancer, you fuckwit. It’s her _job_ to dance. If you're nervous, you can just hang out by her. Come on.” Before he can protest properly, Reggie’s got him around the arm, dragging him closer to the miniature stage. His heart pounds even louder, tongue swelling with each step as he gets closer to his childhood fantasy. But miracle of miracles, she doesn’t notice them. She’s lost in the song, and he’s lost in her dance. Her eyes are closed, long lashes covered in glitter as she occasionally mouths the words to the song. She could be singing, but her voice would be swallowed in this noise. Reggie drags him closer, glass raised like a toast to the party raging around them. Jughead’s fairly certain he’s sweating through everything he owns, which to be fair is just a button-down Archie’d insisted on and some dark pants. _Slacks_. Like, how much more ridiculous could he be? He couldn’t even wear his signature beanie in this freakish place. Something about a _dress code_. But Betty in her underwear was clearly not a problem.

Not a problem at all.

As long as no one minds if his heart seizes up and he blows a nut right here on the dance floor, of course.

Jughead kneads his fingers into a fist, nervously bobbing on his heels in something that resembles dancing. He runs his hands over his head, wishing he could cover it. Reggie keeps grabbing his arm and fist-pumping. In high school he never thought he’d be dancing under a barely-clothed Betty Cooper and fist-pumping with the biggest bully of them all. At least Moose, the groom, was okay. Stupid, but okay. Also a surprisingly good baker, which is always a positive trait in Jughead’s book. But Betty swishes something that’s sort of a fishnet skirt over her bottom, some pretty powerful calves straining amidst platform heels, and the thought of any other human being gets brushed to the side.

“Dude, you’re _drooling,_ ” Reggie laughs, but he can barely hear him thanks to the environment. “HEY BLONDIE!”

Well _that_ gets his attention, and hers too. Betty twists around, a dangerous smile on her face that seems to be reserved for dealing with ogling assholes.

“Oh my god!” Reggie gasps, grabbing Jughead’s shoulder. “That’s BETTY FUCKING COOPER! She’s even hotter than she was in high school!”

The blonde’s eyebrows furrow in realization, and she hangs onto the smile before it slips into something else. She steps around the pole on the platform to get to them, and Jughead’s pretty sure he’s going to faint. Her eyes alight on him, and up close it does enough to send him to another plane of existence. The irises are dancing with every color imaginable, that green still hidden underneath it all. It takes her all of a second to place Reggie, but Jughead gets a little bit longer consideration, suspending his heartbeat in the process. “Of all the clubs in the world, you had to walk into mine." She's quoting _Casablanca_. Okay, he's in love. "What are you two doing here?” she asks, pushing her hair out of her face. There’s a reserved twinkle in her eye. She’s probably on the verge of either sharing a joke or spilling a drink on them.

“Just turnin’ it UP, little Coop! Trying to teach Jughead how to dance while we celebrate with the boys!”

Embarrassed and affronted, he wriggles out of Reggie’s grasp. “I know how to—“

“How do you feel about sharing your professional expertise?” Reggie interrupts, holding some cash out.

Betty rolls her eyes good-naturedly and snaps the cash to tuck away into one of the many criss-cross straps on her body. Jughead stares, wondering what else she has hidden under there. But then she’s gesturing to him, extending her hand. “You wanna come up?”

Jughead looks between them, mortified. He can’t dance _up there_. On a _stage_ …with a half-naked Betty Cooper.

“You’re probably safer with me than with him,” she offers, waving him towards her.

“I just…I wanted to talk!” Jughead tries to shout above the din. If he touches her he'll probably faint.

“Sorry, it’s kinda hard to talk here. I have to be dancing! I’m on the clock,” she wiggles her waist a little conspiratorially, tossing him a wink that he’s pretty sure melts his kneecaps.

_Betty’s got moves_. Even more than in high school.

Just to be an ass, Reggie starts to edge Jughead out of the way.

“I mean, if you're busy, I’ll dance with her—“

“Back off, plebe.” Jughead shoulders a much-too-happy Reggie off to the side and swears the music pulls him into a trance the second his hand clasps into hers. It’s pretty obvious that he has no idea what he’s doing, standing there with his brow furrowed as her fingers pry into his to make dancing more comfortable face-to-face.

“Juggie,” she giggles, stepping closer to him. She's threading her hand in his hair, setting his scalp on fire and taking his breath away. It’s so distracting that he almost doesn’t notice when her mouth presses directly against his ear, causing him to shudder. “Is this okay?” Her breath puffs _inside_ of him, breasts pretty much squashed against him in the attempt to bring them closer together. As if the dress didn’t make it obvious, there is no bra involved. No barrier besides some flimsy black floss. “I can’t really hear you otherwise,” she shouts, bodies pressed together.

“Y…yeah. Only ‘cause it’s you, Betts,” he tries to chuckle, sure the sound is swallowed with the bass. His hand falls on her hip. It hits him that it’s pretty much just mesh and skin under his palm and he almost loses his footing on the platform.

“Easy,” she grins against his cheek. “Follow my lead.”

“Easier said than done. You look great.” She pulls back, her expression bemused. Those eyes of hers are still glowing with the purples and yellows of the club, the green tempting him underneath. Licking his lips, he shifts in a way he hopes mimics her rhythm.

“Beats of four. Just like that,” she says, glimpsing at his feet. Nerves almost make his teeth chatter, but her gaze settles on his mouth and for a second all he can focus on is the way her body drags against his, the sparkling girl in his arms. Smirking, she threads her fingers more liberally through his hair. He hopes she leaves a trace of whatever’s on her skin behind. “No beanies in the club, huh? I might not have recognized you.”

“I know,” he swallows thickly, trying not to stare at the pink paste covering her lips. She’s her and not her at the same time. “I wasn’t…expecting to see you here. Not that I really expect anything. I probably wouldn’t have come if Archie hadn’t shanghai’d me.”

“Archie?” she clarifies.

Oh. _Shit_.

“Yeah,” he sighs, already feeling he’s lost her attention as she glimpses around the club. “It’s Moose’s stag party.”

Betty swivels her attention back to him. “Oh my god! Is he marrying Midge?!”

“Yeah.” He’s fairly certain his feet are moving in an acceptable pattern, even if he is staring a little blatantly at her boobs every time he looks down.

Beaming, Betty snuggles around his neck a little closer. It’s so _hot_ , he feels _sticky_. And god, he still wants to lick her neck.

“How cute. High school sweethearts,” she preens, as if it’s adorable and obnoxious all at the same time.

“It’s not that surprising.” Jughead’s still carrying a torch for his, apparently.

Betty furrows her brow, stepping closer so her hips are flush against his. It's extraordinarily distracting, being basically rubbed off by her thighs while she keeps up a casual conversation, and Jughead strains to do the same. “I always thought they did the open relationship thing.”

“Well now it’s officially open, and bound by the state of New York,” he shrugs, moving his arms around her waist. “Tax benefits are a beautiful thing.” The moisture emanating from her is more like lotion or lube or…

He is never going to get through this song without it becoming _painfully_ obvious how excited he is to see her. There may be a mess involved.

Unable to read if she _knows_ or not, Jughead winces when she leans against his body in a new rhythm, eyelashes fluttering at him with such perfection she could probably blink and blow him away. “What about you? Any girlfriends? Boyfriends?” She’s coy. _Flirting_. Or maybe she’s just doing it because it’s her job and she’s fucking _good_ at it, like she's good at everything else she sets her mind to.

“Nobody special,” he shrugs. But that makes him sound like such a douche. A Reggie, whose next line would be _yet_ and a noted observation that there’s an opening… _just if she’s interested_. Besides, _this_ Betty could be someone totally changed from the girl he lab partnered with in science class for two years. The girl whose ponytail swirled temptingly in front of him in English, the only thing keeping him awake and perky with their small group discussions on motivations, on environments, on anything he could absorb from her without drawing attention to what a fucking mess his own life was. The one he masturbated to in the confines of bathroom stalls, imagining those pink lips sucking him off while her green eyes hooked right into his soul.

He clears his throat, wishing he could scoff at himself without looking crazier than he is. There’s no point pretending to be someone different just because Betty’s a Glamazon and he wants to impress her. It’s impossible. She’s ascended. Another level. He _is_ different than the loner weirdo in high school. He’s more…affably anti-social now. “What I mean is, no. I don’t really date.”

“It’s probably for the best,” she shrugs amicably, but the light fades in her eyes a little bit.

“Why’s that?” he asks, dragging her flush against his chest after a half-hearted attempt to dip her makes the physics of breasts even more interesting.

Her gaze flickers up at him, chiding, if not a little probing. “Lots of drama. Lots of heartache.”

“Oh. You’ve got a…boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

Her eyes roll at the same pace of her neck. “No.”

_Do you want one? Or can I just…lick your thigh or something?_

He’d probably do her laundry if that helped anything.

“Besides,” she continues, leaning forward and curling her fingers around a particularly rebellious lock of his hair. “You never dated in high school. You always had Archie. That’s…sweet. I’m proud of you two for being friends. And for burying the hatchet with Reggie. I don’t know if I’d be as forgiving as you if I had to put up with _that_ on a daily basis,” she gestures, and much to Jughead’s annoyance, his “friend” is apparently taking video and photos of them dancing.

“Sorry. Yeah,” he breathes, licking his lips again. “I think you could get along with anyone. You were always the nice one.”

Her mouth twists at that, and she looks back at the crowd. Feeling desperate, stupid, like they’re back in high school where he was the weirdo loner people passed in the halls, Jughead wishes he could lose himself in the song like she had. Since there’s little chance of that, he attempts to latch onto _her_.

“So how…um…did this come about? You’re good at it.” Great verbiage. From across the way, Archie’s finally noticed Jughead on the stage like it’s the best surprise he’s ever seen. It is a rarity for him to come out, but it's not a circus act. No wonder Reggie is documenting the occasion. Thankfully, Archie probably can’t tell it’s Betty from this angle or he’d be barreling his way onto this stage as well. Archie can have Moose and the entourage of scantily clad women while Jughead enjoys this just a little bit more.

Betty scoffs into her shoulder, but to Jughead’s surprise, none of the glitter goes flying. “It doesn’t take much to look good in skimpy clothing. I’m sure you could do it.”

“The heels, though…”

Her wry smile finally incites him to let loose one of his own. They’re so close this way…the only way he can really hear her. Her breath sends chills along his neck, quickly followed by a fever.

“I’m basically dancing my way through college. This, and odd writing jobs when I can get them.”

Frowning, he pulls back. “What about your scholarships? Your parents? You’ve always been smart—“

“Yeah, well, apparently not smart enough.” Her words come off as dismissive, bitter. Puzzled, he smooths his hands over her sides, hoping she’ll open up to him. A few beats later, she leans up into his ear to regale him with the rest of the tale. “I don’t want to get into it, but basically I had a big falling out with my parents. They…they said some things to Polly, to me…and I couldn’t deal anymore. So here we are,” she shrugs, like it’s just the natural progression that she’d end up a go-go dancer when he’d never heard of her going _clubbing_ all through high school. Then again, there was only one gay bar in town and Kevin probably didn’t exactly want his straight female best friend accompanying him there.

“Here we are,” he reaffirms, clasping his own wrist behind her back and tightening the circle around her waist. The beat doesn’t seem so bad now. He’s kind of getting the hang of this dancing thing. Nowhere near as well as Betty, of course. Even twined up with him, she manages to get a smile on his face and pump up the crowd. His heart leaps back up in his chest when she turns, rubbing her backside against him. Feeling like he’s ill-prepared for this level of closeness, he puts his hands up like she’s about to frisk him. Reggie, who’s meandered over to a group of brunettes, laughs and gestures how to dance in this position before taking a picture. Dick. Jughead feels all his blood rushing south (again? still? he can’t keep track) as Betty’s ass slides over him. He looks to the swinging lights above for a godsend, even as his hand carefully traces her abdomen for support, like Reggie demonstrated. Betty _must_ be able to feel it. To feel _him_. Against her ass. His crotch is lined up with Betty Cooper’s…

_Fuck_.

Feeling overwhelmed, he bows out after the next song. Her eyes widen, confused when he leans in and says, “I’m gonna grab a water. You need anything?”

Pursing her lips, she seems a little lost, touching her wavy hair which magically hasn’t gone out of place the entire time. “No, I’m okay.” How does she not sweat? He hesitates, about to ask, but sees the way she chews her lip, glancing at his front, and wonders if he’s made her uncomfortable. She was grinding against his erection for the better part of what’s probably an endless kind of trance song. He almost _came against her_. That’s probably enough defiling for one night.

“Um. Okay. Thanks,” he tries, rubbing his hand on her shoulder in what he hopes is a friendly gesture. “You actually made it look like I can dance.”

She gives him a little smile, shaking her head. “I—my pleasure. It’s my job to make this place fun. Hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“Y—yeah.”

It feels like striking out when he steps off the stage. Betty turns away, eyes glazed when she gets back in the groove. He lets out a deep breath, trying to shake it off. At least he had a good twenty minutes of Betty Cooper. Not many people could say that. It’s awkward and stilted, moving through the crowd, but eventually he makes his way back to the bar. His brief glimpse in the mirror is enough to reassure himself that he’s soaked through with sweat. At least he doesn’t smell, and his hair has somehow retained something resembling a style, although it’s definitely been pawed rather thoroughly. By _her_. God—Betty Cooper _held onto him_. He downs a glass of water like it’s a shot and settles into one of the high top tables, trying to decide what’s worth the exorbitant club pricing as far as snacks. Peanuts and pretzels will only get him so far and the erotic dance has left him _ravenous_.

Now being alone in the club feels dangerous, isolating. He keeps an eye on Archie, whose arms keep rocking above his head. Moose is going more for the neck and torso swinging, whereas Reggie is firmly set on finding a girl to grind with, fist pumping to the beat when he can’t. Jughead sighs and glances at his phone, knowing that his whole social circle sans his sister Jellybean is present so there’s no one to text him. Still, he has to look like he’s doing _something_ , so he starts typing out some word sprints. A pale streak of blonde keeps snagging his attention. Finally he gives up, content to sip his water and watch her. It’s like she’s a rock star up there. Above them all. Beyond them.

Good for her.

And fuck if he wasn’t still hard for her.

He’d never really had this problem in his entire life. Sure, the occasional high school stiffy. But a well-placed waistband adjustment or internally reciting a Tarantino movie would usually quell it without any problems. The truly persistent ones inspired by _that_ particular blonde would usually be reserved for his moments alone.

Some skinny guy with a buzz cut gestures to Betty, wanting a photo. He wants to come up but she shakes her head, climbing down and posing. She looks just a little annoyed when his hand drifts down her back, but he tips her, sliding money into the straps of her dress. Is that normal? Is she supposed to be tipped the same way as a stripper? Is that why Reggie held out that money? He’d assumed it was to get her a drink or something. Besides, why didn’t that guy get to come up? Shit. Was he…did Jughead mess up?

He moves forward, grabbing Reggie’s shoulder amidst the crowd. “Hey, how much was I supposed to tip Betty?”

“For that dance?” Regge purses his lips, squatting on the dance floor. “I’d give her a fifty.”

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing at her again, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He only has $25 left after the exorbitant entry fee. And he’s pretty sure there’s no card reader hidden in her flimsy excuse of an outfit. “Can I borrow $50?”

“Aw, you wanna tip lil’ Coop? _Cuuute_ ,” Reggie preens, easily slapping a bill in Jughead’s hands. “Oh and by the way, Go-Go dancers don’t usually let you get onstage or give lap dances. So…just saying. You should pick a good place to put that tip,” he winks, gesturing to Jughead’s jeans.

Flushing from head to toe, Jughead glances back at the blonde bombshell on stage. Was that…a lap dance? He’d thought it was just normal grinding or whatever people do these days. Of course _this_ would be one of the times being a social hermit would turn him into a total fuck-up in a social setting.

Determined to make things right, Jughead makes his way back to the stage. “Betts!” he calls, stomach fluttering when she snaps out of her groove to look at him. With a few dance moves she makes her way to the edge of her stage, kneeling to him. He can look right up her to her panties from here, but he tries not to. It’s still Betty, after all. Feeling bashful, he swallows the exorbitant amount of saliva pooling around his tongue. “I, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know I was supposed to tip you.”

Her face contorts back to the girl in high school, the one claiming she didn’t really _want_ a piece of pizza. The apple walnut salad in her lunch was just _fine_. “Oh, no. Please. You keep it. You’re an old friend.”

“I—no, you earned it,” he flushes, aware of the way her face is continuing to fall, the way he’s insinuating—

“Otherwise I have to buy you dinner,” he hears himself say, not sure where it came from.

Startled, Betty looks like she’s been jolted.

“Your call,” he covers lamely, probably too quietly for this song.

“I’d like that,” she says carefully, looking over her shoulder for what he presumes is her boss. Not finding them, she gives him a real smile, the “Betty Cooper Is Here For You” smile. “I get off at two.”

It’s not that much time to wait, but he didn’t come in a car or on his bike. “Me and the guys all came together…” he starts, trying to problem-solve.

“Oh! Stag night! Right…” She smooths hair from her forehead, trying to think. “We don’t have to do tonight. We could—“

Leaning forward, he interrupts her with a hand on her smooth knee. “I’d choose you and pizza over watching my roommates get fall-down drunk any day.”

“Okay.” Her smile widens, almost coy as she flutters long lashes in contemplation. Biting her lip, she looks around again. “You gonna hang out here for the rest of my shift then? Or do you boys have a stripper to get to?”

“I’m good right here,” he assures her, feeling just a twinge of guilt watching her backside flex as she climbs back up to dance. She is _definitely_ the only thing keeping him in this club. He can’t wait to get out of here and actually talk to her. Even though it’s tempting to try and get back up there, press himself flush against her and whisper in her ear, he can’t _think_ properly that fully submerged in her.

Instead, they just _look_ at each other. More accurately, he ravishes every glorious second of being in her presence. A few people try to get in on it, a few girls even tug at his hip to dance, but he shakes his head and steps away, content to sway and occasionally hold Betty’s hand and beam up at her like no time has passed at all. There are few more people who bid for a photo, and part of him wants to rush in and be the one to take it just so he can be a part of it. Sometimes he watches their hovering hands try to find the right placement on her skin. It doesn’t phase Betty, but Jughead mentally wills their hands to move somewhere safe. He doesn’t want anything mixing in with whatever it is he wants to suck off her skin.

Everything itches under his scalp, urging him to get her to touch it again. His own nails do nothing for him. He can’t stop an awkward smile from gracing his face the second she looks over at him.

It’s another song or two before Moose and Archie stumble over. His friends are sweaty and flush-faced, but thankfully not as wasted as they could be. Archie’s arm hooks around the back of Jughead’s neck, pulling him close to yell. “You ready to get out of here?”

“I’m—I’m good. I’m actually gonna stay. You guys can go ahead.”

Surprised, Archie glances at the go-go dancer and back to his friend, not quite recognizing her. It’s still up for debate if Archie ever caught a glimpse of anything salacious involving Betty from his bedroom window when they used to be neighbors. Archie turns to Moose to let him know Jughead wants to stay, and just as he’s letting out a breath of relief, Moose shouts, “That’s okay, we can stay here. I prefer to go the strip club with Midge anyway. We get _so_ many more lap dances as a couple.”

Peals of signature laughter rise from Archie, drawing the attention of Betty and Reggie. Smothering an internal groan, Jughead wonders if he can stop the inevitable from happening without breaking glass. Reggie disengages from a throng of ladies to huddle up with the boys. Presumably they all decide they’re going to stay, and Reggie gestures to Betty behind them. Something like unease flitters across her face, but before she can get down off the platform Archie’s mouth drops wide open, their eyes meet, and it’s like he’s never seen his former next-door-neighbor before.

“BETTY?”

She shakes her head, small smile on her face as she flickers her gaze across the group. “I can’t believe they let the Bulldogs in.”

“Damn straight!” Reggie affirms.

With probably the same amount of slack-jawed awe Jughead had, Archie movies forward to try and catch up with her. Feeling anxious, Jughead moves with him. Archie’s not even looking away, his hand on Betty’s to try and help her down to tell her something.

“What time do you get off?” Archie asks her.

Betty’s eyes flash over to Jughead. “Two.”

“That’s great! We’ll go get a drink or something.” His eyes are practically shining at her.

“Jughead and I already have plans.” She doesn’t sound too apologetic, which gives Jughead a tug of pride. Hope.

The redhead looks surprised, and Jughead can’t exactly blame him. He’s only been on one date in college, a forced double with Archie when he wanted to go out with a film major and didn’t know the names of any directors. Jughead’d spent most of it rolling his eyes. Who thinks Part III of The Godfather trilogy is _romantic_? Or _good,_ for that matter? Some people are just stupid. But Betty Cooper’s smart. Always has been. And a surprising amount of testosterone makes him puff his chest in response, like _back off Archie_ when he offers to join them.

Thankfully Reggie steps in to be the hero _again_ that night. “Back off, Ed Sheeran. Beetlejuice has dibs.” Well. At least he _kind_ of has his back. The boys end up dancing in a group at her feet, some of Moose’s non-Riverdale friends joining in. Jughead’s heart gets caught in his throat when he glances up at Betty, glowing and fantastic and offering him a private smirk. The persistent ring in his ears tomorrow is going to be so worth it.

Finally, her shift ends, and the boys wait with him near the back exit. Reggie’d made out with somebody so he’s feeling pretty good, egging them all on and seeing where they want to go next. Probably a bar, so it’s good that Jughead’s going to sit this one out. He has _much_ more agreeable ways he’s planning to spend the evening.

When the door opens, Betty emerges looking a little more human. She still has sprinklings of glitter on her eyelids (that stuff must be impossible to wash off), eyeliner, and a fresh coat of lipstick, but it’s far less theatrical. Her black zip-up hoodie has two bold patches of soft fur, most likely synthetic. Just a sliver of her midriff peeks out above her tight black leggings.

“You ready?” she smiles, the tenderness of it somehow shyer outside of the club.

“Yeah,” he swallows, hands in his pockets.

“Have _fun_ ,” Reggie coos, leading a hesitant Archie, loopy Moose, and rowdy rest of the crowd to the next stop of stag night. “C’mon loosey-Moosey,” he hears Reggie mock, followed by the echo of a smack on the butt.

Grinning, Betty shakes her head after them. “Some things never change.”

His chest seems too small, to tight for whatever he wants to say. “Yeah, well…some things do.”

Studying him quietly, she nods. “C’mon.” They fall into place astride one another, her heels clacking along the pavement. He’d worry about her feet, but she’s already been dancing all night in them with no sign of bloody or amputated toes so maybe the wedge does something useful for her. Surprisingly, Betty leads him to a dive pizza place. “It’s one of the only places that’s open this hour,” she smiles apologetically. “But it’s good for New York style. And right now it’s only $3 a slice.”

He quirks an eyebrow, holding the door open for her. “So what you’re saying is we’re going to order 17 pieces?”

Her laughter loosens some of the nervous energy inside of him. The bright halogen lights are definitely a different change of pace from the swooping purple overheads in the club. They get two slices to start, partially because he never trusts ordering a full pizza before he’s tried some. The pieces, however, could easily be 1/5 of the whole thing. Jughead’s eyes go wide, staring at Betty as they both fold the greasy, cheesy goodness between their fingers.

“Told you,” she shrugs, taking a sumptuous bite. After one taste, he’s moaning.

“All right. I am definitely getting another one of these.”

“So your appetite hasn’t changed much from high school?”

“No.” The next mouthful is probably too big to be polite. Jughead notes the way she no longer nibbles at greasy foods. It’s normal-sized bites for Betty now, although she’s definitely noticed that his mouth is way too full for talking. Forcing it down, he smiles awkwardly. “Sorry. I used to be a pig. Still kind of am.”

“Please,” she waves her pizza. “I’m jealous. It was all portioned proteins for me.”

“Cheryl must’ve run a tight ship,” he teases, remembering the evil incarnate who ran the Vixens cheerleading squad. Thankfully her and her diabolical twin went to college in Connecticut, no doubt to eventually return to Riverdale to run their family maple syrup business. Betty makes a face at her pizza, snagging a more ferocious bite.

“It was mostly my mother,” she sniffs, clenching a napkin in her palm. “Anyway, where have you been? What’s been making you happy lately besides finding old friends in the club?”

Straightening, Jughead ponders that for a second. Nobody really _asks_ him that. This is already a pretty good date. If it is a date. _Yeah_ , he decides, a date. “I’ve been at NYU with Archie, where he has conned me into saving money by rooming with those other meatheads. They’re not as bad as I thought. Reggie can make a mean stir-fry and Moose bakes.” Betty raises an eyebrow, suitably impressed. “Um, I’m writing a lot.” He takes a small bite this time, chewing thoughtfully, still a little embarrassed, especially now that her attention is razor-focused on him. “Archie’s writing music and bribes me into handling some lyrics. We play video games. I’ve been dabbling in theater—the writing, not the acting,” he amends at her questioning look. “I got some extra stage hand jobs to get the lay of the land. I talk to my sister once in a while. Watch movies.”

“You don’t _watch_ movies,” she teases. Stiffening, he’s not sure what she means. “ _You_ analyze them, obsess over them,” she amends, taking another confident taste of her slice.

“Guilty,” he grins, wondering how much she’s retained from their class discussions back in the day. How many rants she must have endured during high school without him even realizing it. “What about you?”

“Columbia.”

“Nice,” he nods, like he didn’t already know from half-obsessing over her back in the day. “That’s where you always wanted to go, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” she says noncommittally, staring at her pizza slice like she’s not sure how much more she can eat. “Did you ever feel like…in Riverdale…there were all these expectations for us? Like, everyone already had some crazy, predetermined path?”

Swallowing, absorbed in her gaze, he nods. The murky smell of Sweetwater River by the trailer park certainly felt like a death sentence to join the Serpents and spend all his days at the Wyrm. “At least some of us got out of it.”

“Yeah. Anyway,” she sighs, putting her half-eaten pizza slice down on the plate. “It’s good. I’m doing journalism and social justice. I’m rooming with Veronica, which can be…overwhelming, but definitely a good thing,” she says carefully. Jughead chuckles through a mouthful of cheese. If he remembers correctly, the brunette socialite had clamped onto Betty as her new bestie the second she stepped foot into Riverdale. He’d seen them preening and stretching at Archie’s games, laughing over milkshakes at Pop’s while Jughead wrote in the corner. Once in a while he’d feel brave (usually with Archie at his side) and slide into the booth with them, only to be overwhelmed with the strange desire to pluck Betty’s fruit off her milkshake, to “accidentally” brush her foot with his own.

“So what makes you happy lately?” he teases.

Betty flickers her gaze over him, everything narrowing in satisfaction. “I’m still looking for it. But…I will say dancing, writing, and successfully saving landmarks tend to make me happier than most. You know how they say you get secondhand joy from helping other people? I find that to be true, especially for my friends.”

There’s a distant, pleased smile on her face, and Jughead just wants to wrap her in a bear hug and kiss her cheeks. “That’s awesome.” Blushing, she picks at her pizza. “I didn’t know you found joy in dancing. Thought Veronica had to basically drag you to any parties. Not that I went myself, but…” He’d certainly _asked_ if Betty was a guest whenever he managed to snag an invite. Since the answer was usually no, he’d opted to stay behind and let the “cool kids” make fools of themselves.

A pleasant pink blush creeps up on her cheeks. “I usually did it in the privacy of my room. Curtains closed. That way neither my mom or even Archie knew. We all had to have our private things…mine happened to be singing and dancing. And now I get to do it for a living,” she gestures grandly, slapping her hands together a little nervously at the end. “Sort of. It’s not like I can go-go dance my way through college, but on weekends it helps to have a little extra spending money.”

“I get it,” he shrugs. “If I wasn’t mortified of dancing in public and/or being shirtless, I’d probably try to get into it myself.”

“I bet you look great shirtless.” It’s so offhand, but it strikes him nonetheless. Clearing her throat, Betty takes another cautious bite of pizza. “So…”

The rest of the conversation flows easily, and before he knows it she’s offering him the last third of her slice. Sharing saliva with Betty Cooper is definitely not a problem, nor is the way her gaze darkens in satisfaction when his tongue dips out to catch some stray cheese. She only half-admits to liking Archie in high school. “I was young and naive. Polly had a redhead football player boyfriend, so I thought I should have one too. And I knew Archie, so…” she shrugs, unaffected, even as his stomach turns. “I thought it was meant to be. But it was all some stupid fantasy. When we finally were alone together and it could’ve happened, I didn’t want it to. Neither did he. We’d become close friends. Besides, Polly and Jason broke up so often I sort of lost my faith in the fantasy of a ginger stallion.” The way she phrases it makes Jughead laugh hard enough he has to clamp a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t spray water all over the table. She watches him with a small smile, playing with the edge of the thin paper she’d used to wipe her hands. “Didn’t you have any stupid crushes in high school?”

“Well…yeah,” his mouth twists in a wry smile, wondering how embarrassing it would be to admit it at this point.

“Who?” she grins, curious but still weighing some apprehension.

“Um…you, actually.”

Betty doesn’t say anything, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Feeling his cheeks burn, he looks away, rubbing his hair and wishing he had his beanie. Maybe he misread things. Maybe this wasn’t a date. Maybe this was—

“You what? You had a crush on me?” She clears her throat, clearly thinking she misheard him.

“Y—yeah.”

Blinking, she swallows hard. “I pretty specifically remember you didn’t.”

Flushing, he twists the condensation on the side of his glass. “Um…well, I did.”

Betty’s mouth thins into a line, palms pressing on the table in front of her. “I’m going to _kill_ Veronica. Maybe Archie. I don’t even—”

“What? Why?” he half-laughs. This definitely isn’t one of the responses he’d expected.

Flustered, Betty bites her lip. The visual is almost enough to distract him from the story at hand. “I had—Veronica asked about you. She talked to Archie and he said you didn’t feel that way about girls. Or boys. That you didn’t…want those things from anyone. Anyone, including me.”

 

Eyes widening, Jughead’s brought back to a super awkward conversation in Archie’s room. They’d been trying to beat the crap out of each other in Tekken and Archie was prying, asking, “So…some of the girls were asking me…and uh…do you like, wanna go out with them? Ever?”

His heartbeat quickened suddenly, an anxious, unpleasant feeling. “What girls?”

“Girls. Just in general. Do you…like them? Because I dunno,” Archie shrugs. “It’s okay if you don’t. Kevin likes guys. Moose likes…a lot of things. And I know there’s like, a spectrum. Some people don’t like anything at all.”

“Super verbose, Archie,” he’d rolled his eyes.

“You know what I’m saying. I just wanna be a good wingman, if you need one.”

He’d hesitated then, considered confessing. But he imagined the incredulous look on Archie’s face, repeating _Betty?_ Student council Betty? Cheerleader Betty? Next-door-neighbor with a heart of gold? With _Jughead_?

His fingers unclamped from the controller, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at his friend. “Although I’m sure you’re an excellent _wingman_ , I’d rather stay out of the mating rituals at Riverdale High. Especially if your experience is anything to go by,” he joked dryly, changing the subject as Archie threw a pillow at his face.

 

He could _throttle_ his younger self. “If I’d known…you were even an _option_ …” he stutters, still trying to grasp that Betty’d been the one to ask about him via mutual friends. Come to think of it, both girls _had_ seemed a little _off_ after that discussion. Veronica, glaring at him like he was the biggest waste of chromosomes, and Betty like she’d rather bury her face in a book or a milkshake than look at him for too long. His hands fall from his hair to the table in surrender. “I didn’t like _girls_. I liked _you._ I just thought Archie would get all weird about it if I said anything. Plus, I mean, you were _you_. What were the odds of that working out with a guy like me?”

It’s awful, opening himself up like this. He feels defeated and weary and pissed off that his younger self never took any initiative or even told Archie he’d liked a girl, _the_ girl. Maybe they could’ve dated. Gone to prom together. Kissed.

“I always thought you were a good guy,” she says quietly, picking at the table. “And maybe I’m not that good of a girl.”

That strikes him as an odd thing to say, relative wardrobe notwithstanding. “Betty, you’re the best.”

The swallows are audible on both sides of the table. Betty stands, grabbing their trash and tossing it in the can before squeezing a small bottle of hand sanitizer and offering it to him. They both wipe off, Jughead standing with her. “Walk me home?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he nods. It’s late and early and he doesn’t want it to end yet. Their hands naturally wrap together in way he never really expected as she gently guides him in the right direction. They’re in an okay neighborhood, but it’s still past 2am so he keeps her close whenever they pass someone on the street. Their joined hands sway between them, the night sky still a dark haze amidst the bright lights of the city.

The conversation leans towards their respective neighborhoods, and when they get to her building he barely has time to even worry about the end-of-night dating rituals before she tugs his hand to usher him inside.

The doorman nods at them from behind a mahogany desk.

“Rooming with a Lodge does have its perks,” he muses, feeling nervous in the marbled lobby without his beanie.

“Yes, and she still she argues that she’s the lucky one for rooming with me. Probably just because I can cook.”

“Damn, when I can move in?” he jokes, loving the way she laughs, knocking into him.

When they’re in the elevator she leans her head on his shoulder, thumb tracing the back of his hand. “I’m…really glad we reconnected.”

“Yeah…me too,” he says softly, something thick clogging his throat. His arm acts of its own accord, snaking around her waist. She sighs and lets herself lean a little more heavily. “Do you think…could I get your number?” he asks.

“Juggie,” she grins, raising her head up to gleam at him. “Of course you can. It’s the same as it’s always been. Do you still have it or do you want me to write it out for you?”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling to himself. “No, I have it memorized. Guess it was kinda stupid that I never called before.”

“We all make mistakes,” she admits, leading him off the elevator with her. They get to her door, and Jughead’s a bundle of nerves. If she fiddles with the keys, he’ll go in for a kiss. Maybe on the cheek. No, lips. Yeah. Brave. But not…scary. But Betty seems to find it difficult to look at him or the door, key in hand, the right one, but not putting it in just yet. “Do um…do you want a tour?”

“Is that okay? At this hour?” he breathes, wanting to barrel down the door, but terrified of a sleep-deprived Veronica.

“V’s out of town with some friends,” she shrugs, trying to play casual.

“Oh.” Betty waits, still facing the door. “Um, yeah. I’d…I want…yes. I could see your room. Apartment,” he corrects, wincing.

“If you have time,” she teases, finally unfastening and opening the apartment door. It’s about three times the size of the one he shares with three other guys. She must catch him staring, because she tilts her head and explains, “Veronica.”

“Ah,” he nods, hand automatically going to Betty’s lower back as he follows her into the room. There are touches of both of the girls in the apartment. Soft pastels in the kitchen. Rich, bold ones in the living room. Throw pillows abound, some sewn with painful-looking sequins while others have a soft shell on them.

“My room’s in here,” Betty declares almost impatiently, taking his hand and walking backwards with surprising agility. It’s like her dark green eyes are hypnotizing him. Jughead swallows, feeling almost heady, like he needs to fall on top of her and push them both into the bed. He’s never had this overwhelming desire for the pressure of a specific person against him, but something about Betty’s palm in his pushes his loner tendencies out the window.

“I was thinking of taking a shower,” she bites her lip, absently touching her hair. “I feel distinctly sticky.” 

_Oh._ “I could probably use a freshening up myself,” he chuckles throatily. Betty gets a look on her face, a coy thing that makes him blush from head to toe.

“Well, we could arrange something. For both of us.”

He hears the whoosh of blood traveling in his ears, probably on its way somewhere else. Yep. Definitely. “We? Like, together?”

She raises a strong shoulder as if it’s nothing. “Sure. Well, maybe. I have to take off my makeup first…if that’s okay,” she amends.

He reaches up to cup her cheek, tapping her lip with his thumb almost playfully. The gesture slowing turns into something beyond sweet, her eyes darkening and lips parting to almost take his thumb inside of them. Feeling heady, he sighs. “Betty, as long as you’re _you_ , everything’s okay.” Her smile _glows_ , making his heart swell like it’s radioactive, and suddenly he’s looking at her lips again. “Whatever…you wanna do…is okay by me.” Never mind he hadn’t so much as kissed a girl. Well, besides her, of course. But he doesn’t think anything before the age of thirteen really _counts_. Although the kiss she'd laid on him at their graduation was nice too. Quick and lingering at the same time, leaving him dazed with a brilliant, "Good luck," before she bounded off to take photos with her evil Stepford family and conquer the rest of the world like she had his miserable little teenage heart.

Lowering her lashes, Betty lingers in his embrace. “I guess we ought to make up for lost time.”

_Yes_ , he wants to say. “What does that mean?”

“It means that whatever this is started a long time ago,” she says quietly, thumb tracing his neck. The attention makes him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple riding her touch. “And when I felt you against me when we were dancing…that’s the first time I thought… _maybe_ …”

“Maybe?” he breathes, pulling her hips flush against his so she can feel the outline of what she does for him. “More like _definitely_.”

Grinning, she pulls away from his embrace and leads him past her neat bed into a white and robin’s egg blue bathroom. White fluffy towels and fruity and peppermint products line neatly in their shelves, a first aid kit rather handily available. It’s not like he’s noticed any wounds, but maybe her feet get blistered from dancing all night. Before he can think on it too much, Betty’s sputtered the hot water to attention in the shower and steam starts curling over the door, beckoning him closer.

Stretching provocatively, Betty eyes him with something akin to appreciation. “You wanna get undressed? Or do you want some help?”

“I…I can do it,” he swallows thickly, hoping to god this isn’t some elaborate prank for stealing the occasional french fry in high school. Betty takes a step back, quickly grabbing some wipes and clearing her face of leftover mascara and eyeliner. He has a hard time unbuttoning his shirt, watching her so gently and gracefully tend to her face. She’s so _soft_ , so sharp at the same time. The angle of her jawline…

Betty smiles at him through the mirror, perhaps a little too knowingly, so he blushes and looks down, determined to get his stupid shirt off. It finally separates, and he whirls that and his undershirt off in one fell swoop. He starts working on his belt, socks already kicked off when he feels her turn and face him.

Her fingers toy with the zipper on her hoodie, slowly working it down while her eye line trails down his waist.

“So what do you think?” he blushes, unable to resist smirking.

“You look good,” she says carefully. “You’d make an excellent dancer. I might even get jealous.”

“Oh? Don’t want anyone else looking at the goods?” he chuckles, unbuttoning his jeans with a very precise pop that snags her attention to the tuft of hair peeking just above his waistband. “What about you?”

“You’ve already seen most of me,” she grins, unzipping the hoodie the rest of the way to reveal just a bra underneath. He doesn’t know _where_ the netting-dress has gone, probably tiny enough to be tucked in her pocket, but he’s thanking his lucky stars that Moose and the gang just _happened_ upon her club and the best thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He almost groans as the blood in his veins finds a very prominent place to settle. “But I haven’t seen you in this kind of lighting. And not all to myself,” he breathes, hand reaching for her side. The flesh is warm, muscular underneath. His eyes flicker to hers. “Presuming that’s what you want.”

“I want,” she nods, moving forward. She leaves the hoodie behind her on the bathroom counter, quickly shifting out of her leggings as he discards his bottoms. They’re definitely doing this ass-backwards. They haven’t even _kissed_ yet and she’s going to see him naked.

He’s barely even registered her breasts or the fact that his dick is out when they slam into the shower together, a tangle of limbs and want and need as water lubes them up for yet more fun. Giggling, she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Oh my god, I don’t know if I can wait,” he groans, mouth going into her neck, one of the few safe places to put his mouth. Is it too early to lick and suck her skin?

“We’ve waited a few years. What’s a few more minutes?” she teases, gently biting into his earlobe.Groaning, he pushes her up against the shower wall. The chill of the tiles makes her gasp, spread her legs for him.

“Betty Cooper…” he growls, the smells of sweat mingling with arousal. “You are definitely. Not. Sweet.”

He puts a leg between her thighs, fascinated as water travels down the peaks of her breasts. Amazed, he palms them, hips nearly jerking when she groans and arches into it. She’s the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever seen in or out of porn. Massaging her breasts, still fascinated by the sheer weight of them, Jughead looks at the rest of her body. Water drips through the thin strip of blonde curls and onto his leg. Eyes hooded, lips parted, she grinds down on him. _Fuck_ , he’s never felt such _heat_ before. Nearly buckling, he slams a palm against the tile, trying to keep his strength, trying not to get their privates wet with anything but arousal.

“Soap. Where is soap?” he demands, barely in control of his facilities.

“Behind you,” she breathes, her nails raking down the front of his chest.

He squeezes something minty over his chest and back, offering the same to her. Grinning, she helps him lather his front. The scratchy bubbling just serves to agitate him more, wanting to go even faster. He scrubs his pits and crotch a extra few seconds before rinsing his hands. “Turn around,” he offers, guiding her into the warmth of the water to wash her hair. Maybe this will give him a minute to catch his breath, to let reality settle in. He works the soap into her skin, loving the little satisfied sighs he pries from her with his thumbs and palms. Unknotting the tension in her shoulders, he starts wondering where else he can put his hands. The soft roundness of her backside pushes against him, choking coherent thought away. He just wants to move forward, to rub himself off on her like they did at the club.

“Please, Juggie. I want to feel you.” She reaches behind, stroking his dick, and everything starts speckling out in sparkles of color and want.

“Betty,” he groans, pulsing to her hand, her fingers twirling on his tip. “F—fuck.”

“Is this—“

Palming her breasts from behind, he hauls her flush against his body. It’s harder for her to pump him this way, but the sounds coming out of her mouth are worth it. He twists a peaked nipple, massaging the other breast in a rhythm that has her _writhing_ against him, fist pumping erratically as she starts sliding her whole body against him. The overstimulation has them both buckling at the knees. He lets one hand wander down to keep her close, enjoying the way her fingers snake into his hair, gripping onto him for dear life. No one’s ever touched his scalp this way, no one’s touched _any_ of him this way. It feels like he’s coming _alive_.

“Juggie, touch me,” she breathes, spreading her legs in blatant permission. His mouth latches onto her neck, sucking the beads of water off her skin. It’s not like she _tastes_ amazing so much as it _feels_ amazing. His tongue throbs against the pulse quickening beneath him, even more when his fingers find her hot center. Whimpering, she grinds against him, and suddenly the hurried motions don’t seem like enough. He wants to kiss her. Fuck her. _Everything_.

“Betty, I want all of you,” he whispers into her collar. God, it’s good to be able to whisper again.

“Jug—I—“ Seemingly tormented by riding out his hand or going to the bed, she reaches one trembling hand for the shower handle, steam funneling around them like a fog machine.

Well, if she’s _that_ worked up, he can probably hold himself together. He bites back his frustration. “I can…if you’re close, I can…”

“I’m close,” she breathes, that hand wrapping over his wrist. “Please, I’m so close.”

They’ve been in some state of foreplay for half the night, so he’s not sure whether to be impressed or if it’s expected.

He follows her lead, learning to read her from behind, pumping his own relief against her backside as she tightens around him. It feels like they’re spilling into and over one another. The steam clouds the glass shower doors. Her palm braces against it, leaving a smeary streaked handprint in its wake. _Fuck_ , he can just make out their bodies moving in the mirror beyond them. Moaning, he curls his fingers deep inside her, hoping it pulls the desire from her the same way it’s building in him. Suddenly she gasps, her muscles clamping around him, and she comes with a violent jerk against his hand.

It’s so erotic, so warm when it happens that he nearly comes too, eyes wide open as she keeps going, writhing against him and the small little circular movement that seem to be making her come undone. Her body leans, limp and boneless in his arms.

“There you go, Betts,” he smiles warmly, kissing her shoulder. “Should’ve done that years ago.”

“Mmm,” she agrees, kissing his hand and sliding around to face him. Her face is flushed and pink and _sexy as all hell._ Like she’s going to lick him from head to toe, which he still wants to do at some point tonight. “What do you say we towel off and head to the bed? Or do you want a little something right here?”

It’s…he just wants to kiss her. He leans forward, hands on either side of her neck, and kisses her as deeply as he can muster, accidentally pushing her against the cold door of the shower, making her pretty mouth open in a gasp. He swallows it in apology. Open-mouthed kissing is not face-smushing, like he’d always assumed from movies. It’s hot. Sexy. Slow, even as her mouth opens and her tongue teases his lips, her fingers raking through his hair once again. If Betty sticks around, he might never wear his beanie again just so he can feel that delicious sharp tingle of her against his scalp.

One of her hands pumps him firmly, wrist twisting as she pulls his length and swirls her thumb around his sensitive tip. His insides surge towards her in feeling, like he’s taffy being spun in her hands. As much as he wants to keep watching the movement of her delicate hand around his length, the stimulation makes his eyes flutter shut.

“ _Fuck_ me, Betty.”

Smiling, Betty drags her teeth along the sensitive skin of his throat. A groan shakes loose from somewhere deep inside him. Her other hand joins the first to make a tight sheath, drawing him to a soft and giving part of her stomach with every thrust. It’s like he’s surrounded, burning, and with a few more decided movements he shudders, releasing hard against her skin. The force of it’s so powerful that he tries to brace her for it. But there’s nothing that can prepare him for the overwhelming surge of dopamine fuzzying up his brain. He buries his face in Betty’s neck, holding her close and ignoring the glazed mess between them.

“Aw, Juggie,” she smiles into his hair, like him jizzing all over the place is somehow endearing.

All he can do is groan. Maybe that orgasm was so intense because he’s basically been edging on and off since 1am. Or maybe because she’s been his go-to fantasy/reality girl for _years_. It’s a miracle he has the strength to stand.

The little kisses on his neck suddenly feel ticklish, and he shudders away from her. Even though he’s a little sleepy, he still feels sharp. The sight of his milky residue on her stomach does something to him, his cock twitching against his thigh. Betty’s pretty mouth twirls in a soft, self-satisfied smile, her jade green eyes dark from the exercise. Beads of sweat and water stick to them. The aftermath feels…amazing. Warm. She pushes him back just a little so she can run herself under the shower head once more, hands skimming the creamy streaks off her skin. It’s like he’s possessed and can’t stop touching her, gently washing her with a reverence he thought he only had for food.

She’s gentle with him too, pulling ever-so-lightly at his tip to wash the point of ejaculation. It’s almost like she’s proud to wash him there, flicking her thumb against his half-hard member. They share a soft smile, a pressured kiss, and dip out into the cold of the bathroom. Shivering, she hops over and grabs two of the fluffiest towels he’s ever seen. Her movements, even to dry herself, are rhythmic and padding. He’s so distracted by the curves of her body that he almost forgets to take care of himself.

Giggling, they make their way into the bedroom wrapped in the fuzzy warmth of her towels. “You want a drink?” she asks, twisting her wet hair with one hand.

“Sure. Water, if you have it. Uh, can I get you…” he trails off, realizing this is not his home and therefore he can’t really offer her anything.

Biting her lip in amusement, Betty gestures for him to lay down. “Relax. I’ll be right back.”

Jughead all but falls onto her bed, forearm over his head. This is something he’s fantasized about for _years_ , and now it’s pushing 3:30AM, his limbs are tingling with adrenaline, and he’s basically naked in Betty Cooper’s bed. He plans on being here forever, or at least quite often. Who’d have thought Moose Mason and Reggie Mantle would’ve helped him get here?

Betty reappears with two large glasses of water, placing his on a nightstand coaster.

“What’s with the reusable straws?” he asks, sitting up to try and cuddle her.

She falls easily into his arms, head on his shoulder while she sips delicately. “Veronica insists that they save sea turtles and prevent lipstick loss.” She tilts her glass at him, the straw rolling around to his side.

“I guess I could use rehydrating. We need our energy, right Betts?” Betty’s eyes dance with something like pleasure as he leans down and takes a big sip. Scanning his lips with his tongue, he tugs her closer into his arms. “So, um, I hope I’m not being presumptuous in assuming it’s okay if I stay the night. Really, it’s more like morning at this point.”

“I’ve always liked the idea of breakfast in bed,” she shrugs, nestling under his neck.

“I’ll take that as a yes, I can stay?”

“You can stay,” she giggles, kissing the underside of his jaw. The resulting tingle jolts straight to his foot. “Besides,” her fingers trail delicately down his bare chest. “We haven’t gotten to do the full tour yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can all thank Smudge, aka [@thetaoofbetty](https://thetaoofbetty.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me to post this even though I wrote it forever ago and felt nervous about it. I think there should be more Stripper!Betty (or hell, Stripper!Jughead) in the works, so if you find any good ones send them to me ;) I can easily see Betty dancing her way through college and Jughead basically needing to be scooped off the floor the second he sees her. Oh, Reggie. Making it happen for our boy. I love your thoughts so please do comment your fav moments or hang with me on [tumblr](https://lovedinapastlife.tumblr.com/). Do we think Moose and Midge are a good couple? Reggie is the Best Man? I'm 100% confident Juggie and Betty will continue exploring this relationship post-hookup but I'm not sure if eventually the dancing thing will get to him as a non-exhibitionist. What do you think? Let's all dance and drool over our sexy couple


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